Flashes of Victorian domestic surfaces and geometric shadows transform the physical world into a somber, impressionistic abstraction, while elsewhere a spectre emerging from the depths of German Expressionism reminds us that what goes up always comes down.

An anaglyph 3D found footage film about machines and landscape that interlaces motion with stasis, crescendos with glissandos, and reds with blues. Its three movements depict a parked Chevy Caprice police vehicle, Montréal’s Turcot Interchange, and an empty rave room.

An anaglyph 3D found-footage film. None of the source material was shot stereoscopically; rather, the 3D effects are reliant on the phenomenon of motion parallax. Via its time delay strategy, visual depth illusions manifest themselves (or not, in some cases) through horizontal motions in the camera and/or its subjects. Clips of trains, space shuttles, beaches, and cyclopes butt against one another to present a doleful impression of mutated technologies, gestures, and species.

A mini-essay on motion, image tracking, and mapping in an explicitly digital form. It moves through various modes of software and internet aesthetics to frame images of sublime landscapes and flying vehicles (airplanes, space shuttles, UFOs). Set to a score of air traffic control radios, transportation ambience, and ominous drones, the accumulating layers of found, manufactured, and self-shot footage – plus a swarm of digitally animated fireflies – ease into an ambivalent co-existence.

A trek down the entire length of Coorow-Latham Road – a small, barely inhabited path in Western Australia, about 250km north of Perth. The camera faces forward at the beginning, then slowly pans to the left over the course of the journey until it finally settles on a rear-view gaze of the road travelled. Images acquired from Google’s Street View application.

A study on time, speed, light, and the compression of those three elements. A 16mm film projector (offscreen) pans its light across a studio, passing over a bouquet of yellow daisies. The 24fps flicker clashes with the 30fps recording by the video camera, creating a phasing pulsation in the light. The video repeats again and again, doubling in speed with each successive play until the length is only one frame.

I turn on a Digital Light Processing (DLP) projector without wiring it to any input channels, thus prompting the system’s ‘no signal’ message default. I wave my hand through the projection of the message, first to mimic a shutter, then to greater exaggerate the distortion of the white text into a rainbow blur. My hand gets increasingly vigorous over the course of 4 minutes before I get too exhausted to continue.